


Truly, Madly, Beakley

by Alcoholic_Kangaroo



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Older Woman/Younger Man, crackship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcoholic_Kangaroo/pseuds/Alcoholic_Kangaroo
Summary: What if Launchpad thought Beakley was trying to ask him on a date when she asked him to join her for supper?
Relationships: Launchpad McQuack/Bentina Beakley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	Truly, Madly, Beakley

“So, uh,” Launchpad rubs at the back of his head in that awkward way he does sometimes. It’s a gesture that Beakley has become familiar within their time together employed under Mr. McDuck. He often used to do it when speaking to her before the kids came along but their presence has loosened his tongue and eased some of the tension from his shoulders. He no longer seems constantly on edge when alone with her. “This was...fun?”

“Thank you for a very enjoyable evening,” she confirms with a nod. Her hand is already on the doorknob, ready to disappear into her own rooms so that this strange yet undeniably genial young man may retire to his own space over the garage. His company had been agreeable, and the hours they had spent together watching his favorite television show surprisingly pleasurable, but everything must come to an end. The hour is late and they both have work in the morning.

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” he beams, relief as clear as the big smile on his face. He raises the bill of his hat and brushes some of his red feathers from his eyes, tucking them back. “So you’re gonna invite me in?”

“Invite you in?” Beakley asks, confused by the question. Why in heavens would she ask him into her personal quarters this late in the evening? Unless he is asking for a nightcap, perhaps. Yes, that would make sense. No liquor is kept on the McDuck premises besides the bottles in her own securely locked bar. The kids are good kids but even good kids can get their little hands into places they shouldn’t be sometimes. “Well, of course, come on inside, let me pour you a drink.”

He closes the door behind them and stands near the entrance, looking around her small, tidy sitting area. She favors a more mid-century look than the rest of the manor and he must find the decor appealing enough as he heads over to one of her shelves to look through a few of her old vinyl records on display. The white shag carpeting muffles his normally clamorous steps. He asks her a couple of questions about the bands and she answers them to the best of her ability though she can’t say she knows the meaning behind their names or whether or not all the musicians are still alive for most of them.

She removes one of the records from the shelf, showing him the retro-style cover in shades of blue and black and teal.

“This is one of my favorites to unwind to in the evening,” she confesses, sliding the old jazz vinyl from its case. “Here, let me put it on for us to listen to.”

Her record player is sitting on top of the squat wooden bar directly below the window. She sets the record in place and adjusts the needle. The music is like liquid lava, hot and smooth in her belly. She closes her eyes for a moment, allowing the tension to ease from her body as the saxophones and pianos encase her.

“I hope you like it.”

“It’s nice,” the young man responds, but he obviously isn’t getting much from it. No matter, the young always have terrible taste in music. 

She removes the liquor cabinet key from her pocket and squats down to unlock the bar. Inside is a display of numerous bottles and glasses. 

“What is your drink of choice?”

“You have any Coors?” Launchpad asks, “The can is cool.”

“Uh, no,” she frowns, glad she’s not looking at the pathetic creature, she isn’t sure if she would be able to hide the judgment on her face. “I don’t keep anything cold in here, besides the ice maker. I could make you a martini? A gin and tonic? Maybe a Manhattan?”

“A martini? Like in Double-O-Duck? Cool!” 

Double-O-what? Half the things that come out of the fool’s mouth are lost on her. She takes a breath, forcing herself to sound friendlier than she’s feeling this late in the day. Turning around with a bottle of gin in her hand, she smiles at him.

“Alright, would you like that dry?”

“What? How can a drink be dry?” Launchpad’s voice is drawling, confused. He laughs a little to himself. He’s removed his shoes and set them next to the door. Apparently, he enjoys the feel of the shag carpet judging by how he’s digging his feet into the fibers. “Isn’t that like, the opposite of a drink?”

“I’ll...just make it like I make my own,” she says, feeling a headache coming on. She turns her back to him once more, facing the bar, and just prays he manages to not destroy anything as she prepares two gin martinis with a splash of olive juice and garnishes. As she’s pouring the drinks from the cocktail shaker she hears something fall behind her and winces.

“Sorry! I’ve got it! See, safe and sound.”

She sighs. Grabbing one of the long-stemmed glasses in each hand she turns around, the words already on her lips.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure whatever- Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

More than that. He’s topless. The man’s jacket and shirt are lying on the armchair she normally reads on, neatly folded in a small pile. Even his hat is gone, lying on top of the shirt and jacket. His red hair looks fuller and wilder without his hat pushing it down. Hat hair. But why is this odd duck just standing there, in the middle of her private sitting area, in just his pants?

“Oh, you know,” he waves off the question with a stretch of his arms above his head, loosening himself up as if he was about to go for a run. She blinks at him. He certainly is an impressive male specimen. But that in no way answered her question. “Oh, neat, olives.”

He takes one of the drinks without waiting for her to offer and plops down on the loveseat, swinging his feet up on her coffee table as if he’s sat there in that exact same spot, in that exact same position, a hundred times in the past. She hesitates, then gingerly sits beside him. This all is very strange. Did he pull his pants down? The hallows near his hip bones are showing. He eats the olive first, chewing boisterous.

“I propose a toast,” he offers after he swallows. He raises his glass to eye level, nearly splashing the gin and vermouth onto her floor. “To an old yet budding friendship.”

“To our friendship,” she agrees, lifting her glass politely. She ignores how he holds his out to clink and brings it to her lips to complete the toast. He scratches his head then follows her example. Within seconds he’s spitting his drink back into the glass. 

“Oh yuck, is that what a martini tastes like? Gross.”

She can’t help but smile. It’s like watching one of the kids eat something they dislike for the first time. She can’t even be offended by his actions. He wipes at his face.

“Not everyone is a fan of gin,” she concedes, taking another dainty sip of her own cocktail. “Perhaps next time you can supply the drinks?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. He smiles, all white teeth and twinkling eyes. “I’ll get the Coors Lite even. Though I gotta admit I’m not much of a drinker anyway. Not unless I’m at a barbecue or something.”

Then why did he want to be asked in so badly? Maybe he thought she kept tea in her rooms. Or coffee. Or Pep.

“I could prepare you something else?” Beakley offers, already beginning to stand. He puts out an arm to block her. It’s the size of a small tree trunk.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he says, jovially. “Sit back down. I’m good.”

She settles back down next to him. He leans forward to set his glass on the table and then settles back on the loveseat, spreading his arms across the back. She isn’t sure if he’s trying to be suave but the way he slips an arm behind her shoulders and then oh so carefully curls it around her is anything but subtle.

What in high heavens?

One of his hands strokes her shoulder softly.

“Launchpad, what are you doing?” Beakley demands to know, turning towards him so that his hand can no longer reach.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, quickly pulling his arm away. He crosses them across his chest, tightly. “Am I doing it wrong? I’ve never been with a woman your age before.”

“Been with-” Her jaw almost drops open. Been with? Like that? What would even give him such an idea? “Launchpad? What do you think is going on here?”

“Well, I assume it was gonna go pretty much the same as usual,” he contemplates, rubbing his chin as if he’s deep in thought. “Probably start with kissing and then maybe some heavy petting and then we should probably discuss protection and then-”

“Did you think I asked you inside to try to have sex with you?”

“Huh?” The young man gives her a dumbfounded, vacant-eyed look. “Isn’t that why you asked me on a date?”

“A date?” She laughs despite herself. Her hand is shaking so from the laughter she leans forward to set her glass beside his barely touched martini glass. “I didn’t ask you on a date!”

“What do you mean?” Launchpad, the poor befuddled boy looks like the rug has been pulled out from beneath him, as if his entire world view has been proven wrong. “You made me dinner, we watched television together, talked. I’m not new to this whole dating older women thing, I know what is expected after a free meal, don’t worry.”

After a free meal? Is Launchpad admitting to having been wooed by cougars? Is he telling her he can be bought with some free food? The poor child, with a figure and face like that he should have at least been demanding video games or something.

Beakley covers her face with one hand, partly horrified, partly embarrassed. This entire evening has gone horribly. She isn’t sure if she wants to laugh more or cry. She apparently hired a male escort half her age without even realizing it. An extremely cheap escort, at that.

“Launchpad, I would never use you like that,” she assures him with the kindest, most gentle voice she can muster. “I just wanted us to be friends.”

“We already were friends,” he says, visibly pouting.

“Well, yes,” she concedes his point. “I just wanted us to be better friends. Please don’t feel like you need to have sex with people just to be their friends. I like you fine how you are and am proud to consider you my friend.”

“So,” he begins, drawing the word out to a good two seconds in length. “No sex?”

“No, Launchpad,” she confirms, “No sex.”

“Ah, geez,” he complains. He seems to deflate at the news. He sinks down into his seat, his legs sliding out further in front of him. “No offense, but I was really looking forward to it.”

No offense? How could somebody of her age be offended by the idea of a young man of his age and physique wanting to be with her?

“You did?” She asks, curiously.

“Well, yeah,” he confirms, looking at her with a disappointed tilt in his mouth and voice. “Why wouldn’t I have? Free food and getting laid by a cool chick like you? I bet you could have taught me a lot.”

“Hmm,” she hums, acknowledging the compliment. She sets a hand on his knee, waiting to see how he reacts. Then slides it up onto his inner thigh. “Yes, I probably can.”

He’s gone tense under her touch. The lean muscles of his legs tight. His breath hitches. 

“I thought…”

“It’s a lady’s prerogative to change her mind.”

"It is."

When she slips her hand up further to cup his crotch, he’s already starting to harden. What a splendid young man. Yes, she’ll definitely teach him a few new tricks.


End file.
